


just, the three of us

by nakamaRose



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley's pride and joy, Established Relationship, Family Fluff, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Isobel Faye Crowley, M/M, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, proud snake dad is proud, she's their daughter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 08:42:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19943347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nakamaRose/pseuds/nakamaRose
Summary: In which Crowley shows off his pride and joy, nearly gives Aziraphale a heart attack in the process, and is just all around, a really nice guy who just can’t possibly bring himself to ever really do anything terrible.





	just, the three of us

“All righty, do you remember everything Lizzie?”

“M-maybe we should start. . . _smaller_. . .”

“Smaller? This couldn’t get any smaller if we tried, Angel”. Crowley turns around to face Aziraphale, the Angel nervously wringing his hands and eyes flitting up and down nervously.

Both Demon and Angel are stood beneath the shade of a large tree, the leaves swaying back and forth gently in the slight breeze running through the South Downs. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky to block the bright light from the sun shining down and covering the entire area in a wonderfully warm embrace. If any other day had been equally as splendid, the Angel Aziraphale might have suggested going out to this very spot, spreading out a blanket, and having themselves a nice little picnic without a care in the world to fret over. As it were, what Aziraphale was currently worrying himself sick over was what was standing _up_ in said tree they were standing under.

Ten feet above them, and currently trying to keep the leaves from smacking her in the face, was one, ten-year-old Isobel Faye Crowley—she had taken Crowley’s _technically_ last name as opposed to using Aziraphale’s botched concoction because the Demon had outright refused having his daughter keep the moniker _Fell_. She was fairly short in stature but long in limbs, having inherited that trait from her Dad specifically—among _other_ things as Aziraphale often put it during on her more severe temper tantrums back when Isobel had been the ripe age of one—and was overall very slim. This was mind boggling because she also had her Father’s voracious appetite towards food, nearly becoming undistracted whenever something on a plate was set out in front of her. She didn’t really have the _need_ to eat, just as Aziraphale didn’t need to consume food for energy, but she appeared to enjoy it all the same. She had long, strawberry blonde hair that was pulled back into a neat bun, the pale streaks of cream and ginger swirling together to make it appear as if it were on fire. Her facial structure was much the same as her Dad’s, all sharp curves, but with bright ocean blue eyes that was encircled with a faint golden yellow that would flash in warning whenever she became truly irate. When she’d been first born had closely resembled Aziraphale’s and was complete with sound round edges, but now as she was growing, it was becoming increasingly clear that she was taking after her Dad.

And Aziraphale loathed the idea because here they were, staring up a tree into the eyes of their defiant daughter who had her cheeks puffed out as she pouted down, eyes locked directly onto him and _not_ Crowley.

“She’s done marvelous using the rock, but she’s got to try it at some point”. Crowley’s voice sounds again, and he’s walking closer to him, hands coming up to reach for his glasses. “Isobel can do this, and besides,” the Demon starts as he tucks one temple of his shades onto his shirt, “ _I’ll_ be right up there with her should anything go wrong”. He winks a serpentine eye at Aziraphale, lips curling up into a smile and as much as the Angel wants to bat him over the head, he _knows_ the Demon is right.

For them, flying had come naturally. They had both been created fully formed and fully aware of what they were and just what it meant to walk and to fly. But their daughter was something so rare, only ever sparking into existence one every 100,000 years—or at least, that’s what he had read before he’d been sent down—and Isobel hadn’t had the luxury of such spontaneous knowledge. She’d been born an infant, after all, and only after crossing her second year of life, had her “growth spurt”, occurred. The two parental figures had mused that it must have come down to her being a Nephilim, but then again, no one really knew.

All the same, Aziraphale bites the inside of his lower lip, doubt leaving his mouth in the form of a wavering whine. It’s then, that Crowley’s mischievous expression softens, and he reaches out with both hands to grasp the one’s the Angel is still fidgeting with.

“Don’t worry, nothing will go wrong,” and he brings both of Aziraphale’s hands up to press a light kiss onto them, “trust me”.

And that’s all it takes for the final bit of Aziraphale’s resolve to break and he nods his head.

Up in the tree, Isobel laughs giddily, the sound high and long as he claps both hands together.

“All right then,” Crowley calls out, pressing one last kiss to Aziraphale’s hands before turning on his heel and ambling to the base of the tree, “show me how it’s done sweetie”.

Crowley watches as his daughter excitedly dances on the tips of her toes a few more times before taking a couple deep breaths and closing her eyes. Her wings slowly unfurl, dapples of sunlight catching the downy grey feathers and making them light up as if they were made of Silver. Experimentally, Isobel twitches them gently and they slowly respond, flapping minutely just as the fingers of her own hands twitch. It was a strange thing indeed, teaching their child to fly when he’d never had to in the first place. Through trial, and much error, both he and Aziraphale had learned Isobel’s wings were connected to her arms, the nerves and signals sent from her brain to both her arms and her wings linking them. Flailing her arms in the beginning stages had only proved to send her wings into a panicked frenzy of flapping and bashing. To combat this, it had been Aziraphale who had taught her to clear her mind and visualize her wings as almost a separate pair of arms. And after months of tending to scrapes and bruises nearly everywhere, Isobel had come into her wings.

And was now preparing to jump and fly more than just a few feet from the ground.

The Demon watched as his daughter continued to breathe deeply and slowly, gradually moving her wings up and down and then flapping them back and forth gently. As she did, the bottoms of her socked feet steadily began to rise and once she was a couple of inches—and her hands no longer twitched—she opened her eyes. She flashed a brilliant smile down at him, just as Crowley unfolded his own dark wings and pushed off to meet her.

“You’re doing beautifully sweetheart,” he praised, offering her a smile of his own and feeling his heart swell with pride when her own practically doubled in size.

“I’m ready Dad!” She proclaimed, eyes becoming quite serious and reminding Crowley of the stern look Aziraphale would often give him whenever he’d sneak a treat for her. He flapped his own wings back, as if paddling backwards in a swimming pool, and held his arms out towards her.

“Come on then, let’s show your Father how well you’ve learned to fly”.

Isobel lets out another laugh, nose scrunching up and body wriggling from side to side as Aziraphale does whenever something has particularly tickled his fancy. Oh, how he loved his daughter, the perfect blend of the two of them.

With one last wiggle, Crowley watches as his daughter bends partially down and then push off with a loud grunt and wings spread out wide. Her eyes are wide in excitement, her mouth opening wide to let out a shocked gasp as her fingers meet with Crowley’s.

From down below, Aziraphale lets out his own loud noise, and Crowley turns his head down just enough to catch the Angel nervously clenching a fist up to his mouth while he waves erratically up at them.

“I’m doing it! I’m doing it, Dad!” Isobel gleefully cries, wings beating slightly faster than Crowley’s who are lazily swiping through the air.

He turns his attention back towards her, squeezing her hands as he begins to gently lead her further out. “Think you can go a little farther?”, he asks, his daughter’s enthusiasm and excitement beginning to rub off him and he steadily loosens his grip.

Isobel enthusiastically nods her head, eyes becoming sharp and serious once more, and Crowley gives out two large thrusts backwards to push them. His daughter falters for a moment, just as he pulls completely away, and her arms and wings begin to act in tandem. But then, she gives two large flaps of her wings and everything rights itself. Her eyes find his and he sways off to one side, allowing the small breeze to carry him slightly behind her.

“Go on then,” he says encouragingly tilting his head out, “I’ll be right behind you to create a nice updraft for you”.

She practically squeals with happiness, flapping quickly as he looks down at her Father, “Hello down there!” She calls out and Aziraphale looks as though he might actually die from second hand fright but Crowley is just as amazed as his daughter when the Angel sends up a positively radiant smile.

“Right”. Isobel nods her head decisively, taking another deep breath before setting out further. Crowley follows behind her, moving his wings more than he normally would in order for his daughter to be more comfortable. They fly further and further from the tree, Aziraphale—who’s still slightly anxious despite it all—closely behind them. Isobel’s quick flapping steadily begins to even out to well-timed beats, only moving her wings when she absolutely needs to, and Crowley couldn’t be more impressed.

Soon though, he can hear her ragged breathing, and she starts to flap in quick succession.

“You still doing all right love?” He calls out to her and she turns her head back, pushing a few strands of hair that have fallen loose from her bun, and she starts to fall to one side. In an instant, Crowley is there to swoop beneath her, pressing his body up into her and catching her as she lets out a tired sigh.

“You and Father make it look so easy,” she says, sounding a little dejected and Crowley turns his head just enough to see her from the corner of his eye.

“Nonsense dear,” he reassures as he beats through the air a few times, “you’ll be besting your Father and I in no time, just look at the progress you’ve made today”. And at that, he arcs his back, thrusting himself up and pushing as much air as he can directly above him. From the ground, he hears Aziraphale yell crossly at him, but he largely ignores it and pays more attention in catching his daughter in his arms rather than his partner’s shouts.

“Just look at how far you flew, my dearest”, affection coating his words. And indeed, Isobel had flown quite a good distance from the tree, practically no need to bother with walking back to their cottage.

Isobel hums contemplatively in his arms, her small hands fisting into the fabric of his rolled back sleeves of his dress shirt before turning to give him a rather thoughtful look.

“One day, when I’m big like you and Father, I’m going to carry you both through the sky”.

Crowley can only blink down at this declaration, head tilting off to one side in slight confusion but gives a noncommittal hum of his own. Who was he, after all, to deny such a thing as that from his daughter who sounded so much like her Father?

And as they went back to Aziraphale and reluctantly walked back to their home to prepare supper, Crowley could have sworn someone was watching them. But as he stood at the threshold to their cottage, sounds of Isobel and Aziraphale happily bickering over what to make, he saw nothing but the tree they’d started off at waving to him from the distance. The Demon thought nothing more of it because his daughter chose that precise moment to tackle him, dragging him with all her might to help persuade Aziraphale into letting her eat dessert first this time.

The door to their cottage in South Downs shuts softly, everything seemingly in its place.

And off in the distance, standing beneath that tree, is a woman. Tall and lean with flowing hair that burns and, on her face, a smile so peaceful with eyes as bright as the sky above her.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written literally so fast because I was struck with the idea and needed to get it all down before it left forever and I forget so sorry if there are any grammatical errors. This more or less falls within the same sort of universe, I guess, as the last Good Omens story I wrote.
> 
> I'm messing around with an idea but for now, these could be read as separate pieces if that makes sense. . .


End file.
